It had been three days of blessed silence, and on this beautiful morning, the sun filtered gently through the windows of the infirmary ward.
Noah stood before the mirror, studying himself in his new uniform.
The black fabric gleamed faintly, the golden trim catching the light and announcing to anyone who saw him that he was no longer of the Stone-tier. He had climbed. He had survived.
He ran a hand down the crisp folds of the jacket, adjusting the collar. For the first time since waking, he looked less like a patient and more like someone who belonged to the academy.
Yet behind his eyes, his shadows whispered and hissed, reminding him that uniforms and colors didn't matter. What mattered was what he would burn.
The old hospital clothes lay folded neatly on the bed. Noah placed them at the edge of the mattress, finalizing the transition in his heart.
